


Leaves from the Vine

by chronicAngel



Series: Avatar College AU [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Memories, Gen, Memories, POV Third Person, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 19:20:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8222041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicAngel/pseuds/chronicAngel
Summary: One of Zuko's earliest memories is of his uncle singing to him.





	

One of Zuko's earliest memories is of his uncle singing to him.

He was three at the time, and his parents had gotten into a big fight, which led to him running away and crying in the garden like a terrified child (he was reluctant to note that he _was_ a terrified child). Azula was barely a year old at the time, and was thus free of the corruption she would exhibit even just a few short years later, and he remembered his uncle holding her in his arms as he sat on the stone bench next to his nephew. He wore a small, exhausted smile and tired eyes, but seemed happy to sit next to the little boy who quickly turned to cry into the extravagant red robe his uncle wore, a golden dragon embroidered on his chest.

Azula watched her brother curiously, peeking at the back of his head from their uncle's shoulder as he shook and sobbed, and Iroh just sat there silently with a comforting hand on his back. They were like that for a long time, ignoring the muffled yelling coming from inside. Eventually, the old man opened his mouth to speak, and Zuko looked up at him hopefully with wide, childlike eyes that lacked the bitterness that they would develop over the years.

The old man started to sing. The young child's eyes widened as he heard the familiar tune, something his mother often sang to him and his sister when they were having trouble getting to sleep, a lullaby that he imagined his uncle singing to his son. "Leaves on the vine... Falling so slow... Like fragile, tiny shells... Drifting through the foam..."

Gentle breaths were drawn in and out by the small boy, watching his uncle curiously as he finished the song, continuing to hum as he rocked with his brother's kids in his arms until Zuko only managed a sniffle every couple of minutes and Azula lulled off in her uncle's arms. Eventually, Zuko started playing with the old man's beard, his small fingers running through the tangles. For Iroh's part, he tolerated a lot, only occasionally making a noise of protest when his nephew's tiny fingers snagged on a particularly stubborn tangle and the hair was pulled on in a way that actually hurt. The noise from inside died down after long enough, and the old man took the children inside to hug their mother while their father blew of steam doing who knows what in their parents' bedroom.

That's one of the few pleasant memories Zuko has with his sister, he realizes, and the thought, rather than causing a grimace like it normally would, brings the tiniest of smiles to his face. He is laying on the green couch in the living room of the apartment above the small tea shop that his uncle runs, an apron still tied around his waist from when he was on his shift not ten minutes ago. His eyes are closed, but he is not asleep. His hair is a mess, seemingly stuck in a perpetual bedhead since he cut it, and he doesn't bother messing with it anymore because it is always a wasted effort that ends in him frustrated with hair often worse than it started. His breathing is slow and steady, and it would be easy to mistake him for asleep.

When he hears the door, he considers opening his eyes, but doesn't, listening to the sound of his uncle locking the door and resting his keys on the table. He allows a small, tired smile to creep onto his face.

"I'm home!" His uncle announces it, revealing that either he hasn't seen Zuko on the couch yet, or is so used to the necessity of the action, the tradition behind shouting that you're home even to an empty house, that he has not broken the habit. After a moment of silence, he hears the sound of a tea kettle whistling, a cup being poured, and then he hears the familiar sound of his uncle groaning in relaxation as he sits next to Zuko's head.

He feels the steam from the teacup hit his face, and it reminds him enough of the experience that caused the large scar over one of his eyes that he can't help but flinch and roll over. His uncle seems to dismiss this as a nightmare, putting the cup of tea down on the nearby coffee table and running a hand through his nephew's now-short hair. He begins to hum, and Zuko recognizes the tune before his uncle has even started the words, "Leaves on the vine... Falling so slow... Like fragile, tiny shells... Drifting through the foam. Little solider boy... come marching home... Brave soldier boy... comes marching home..."

Zuko doesn't often allow himself to be comforted, but in this moment with his uncle on the couch, he takes pleasure in nodding off to his uncle's singing.


End file.
